


Pumpkin Patch Babysitting Service

by PonyCorpse



Series: Super Gay Pistol Pony Rodeo Collection [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Babysitting, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, derpery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PonyCorpse/pseuds/PonyCorpse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Mothers Roxy and Jane decide to take a well earned holiday to Paris, but instead of hiring a perfectly capable and professional babysitter to look after one year old Rose and John, Uncle and Godfather Jake decides that he and his three year boyfriend (and also Uncle) Dirk should look after them for the week instead. </p>
<p>It really can't be that difficult, right? </p>
<p>Wrong, Jake, very wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so shitty at summaries so gomen for that. Also I'm planning on this having a fair few chapters so please stick around, and bear with me whilst I get into the mindset of writing something other than a one shot. So yeah sorry this is short for starters!

“So…”  
  
You drawl with a sigh, twirling the handle of the spoon you’re holding loosely in your free hand around the now empty cereal bowl before you as you try -for what must now be the hundredth time- to figure out why the hell Jake is so excited about this whole ‘babysitting’ thing.  
  
“Jane and Roxy are going… _where_ exactly?”  
  
“Paris, Dirk, Paris.” He interjects, looking still pretty enthusiastic if a little strained, undoubtedly from your obvious disinterest in all this. You can hear the hummingbird fast tapping of Jake’s foot against the floor too; he’s fidgeting which means, as you’ve learnt from experience, that he’s getting impatient.  
  
“Right.” The brunette nods curtly, hopeful that you’re starting to give in. Which is complete and utter bullshit of course; you’re feeling damn difficult this morning and taking fifteen minutes to decide between toast and cheerios for breakfast hasn’t given you your being-an-ass-for-the-sake-of-it fix.  
  
“And you volunteered for us to look after John and Rose instead of them hiring a sitter for the week… _why_ exactly?” Pointedly gesturing to him with the spoon and flicking a little milk across the table in the process, the narrowing of your eyes and grimace that pulls at your features makes Jake lean back in his chair and fold his arms across his chest, frowning at you with what you think is totally a trace of a pout. Yeah, that’s definitely a pout, he must really want this; Jake normally saves that face for really important things like when he’s trying to get you to watch Avatar with him for the third time in a week. “Because!” He begins throwing his arms out to the side exasperatedly, so loudly that you think that’s going to be the end of his explanation and he won’t elaborate at all.  
  
“We’ve barely spent a measly weekend with the little blighters since the bloody christening at WHICH, if you’ve not conveniently forgotten, was the same ceremony at which we were named _godfathers_ for Christ’s sake! Don’t you think we ought to fix that? Not to mention that we owe those dames enough as it is anyway! Have you even spoken to them recently? They most certainly need a holiday!”  
The truth is that yes, you are technically one of the two godfathers along with Jake to both of the sprogs, yes, you do owe the girls a lot for the gazillion times they’ve managed things at home for you when you’ve fancied nipping off to Fiji for a couple of months at a three days notice, and yes, you have spoken to them recently and you’ve never heard Jane sound so stressed or Roxy sound so sober (except for when she was up the duff but that doesn’t count.). God damn it you’re running out of ways to get out of this.  
  
“We’re not even religious. _They’re_ not even religious” You whine, but to be honest at this point in time you’re pretty sure there is no point in arguing. So, despite yourself you quieten with a small defeated sigh, leaning back in your chair and folding your arms behind your head.  
  
Staring at the ceiling for a while you find yourself looking on the bright side of things. John and Rose turned one a couple of months back, and yeah they were pretty damn cute. Almost as cute as how sickeningly sweet it was watching their mothers gushing over baby grows and ordering stupid tiny t-shirts on them that read “I love my mummies” before the two of them even had signs of baby bumps. But you guess it was to be expected, as Roxy and Jane were pretty fucking cute anyway, so why wouldn’t their artificially inseminated spawn be? You can do this, you’re sure. It’s only a week anyway and they-… You sit up straight in your chair as if someone had just stuck an electric cable in your trousers as the realisation hits you.  
  
“That means I’m not going to get laid for a week doesn’t it.”  
  
You manage to narrowly avoid the cereal box being thrown straight at your head, but the contents spills all over the tiles behind your chair and you eye it in all its wasted cheerio glory coldly for a second before giving Jake a look that you hope clearly communicates ‘I’m sure as hell not cleaning that up hun’.  
  
“I’m sure you’ll survive!”  
  
“It’s not _me_ I’m worried about. It’s little Dirk.”  
  
“That’s weird and stop changing the god damn subject.” Shit, you thought you’d had it then.  
  
“Not that I even know why we’re discussing this, I’ve already arranged for Jane and Roxy to drop them off tomorrow at twelve, and then they have their flights the day after at six am. I figure that gives us a night to be able to phone them if we have any questions before they dash off to France.”  
  
“ _Tomorrow_?!” You barely contain a screech, covering your face in your hands. “And you think that what, an evening, is enough to learn parenting? Thank god you’re pretty because you sure as hell aren’t smart.”

But before you can turn this into a proper argument which would surely lead to a strife which would surely lead elsewhere, Jake cottons onto your intentions and just grins that motherfucking grin that makes your tummy still go funny after what, three years of dating him(?) and you just slump back into the chair, completely and utterly defeated. God damn you’re pathetic.  
  
“Okay fine, but I want to be the one they call Mum.”  
  
“Oh don’t be a royal twat, you’re Uncle Dirk remember?”  
  
“That just makes me sound old.”  
  
“Well yo-“  
  
“No.”  
  
Laughing in a way that makes you try to remember when he last took you seriously, Jake gets to his feet and starts clearing away the morning’s dishes and you watch him lazily, clinging to the fact that maybe, just maybe after this awful week is over he will be so put off of children that you’ll never have to face one again in your life. Because really, who is the guy trying to fool? Jake only has a limited few ways of dealing with things, and you can’t really challenge a two year old to a round of ‘fisticuffs’ when It won’t go to bed on time.  
Oh god, he’s going to try isn’t he.  
  
“You can’t strife with them you know!!” You call into the kitchen from your chair, rolling your head back ‘til the highest tufts of your hair graze your back. But you get no answer for your efforts and grumbling slightly you call out again.  
  
“That means we’re fucking tonight, right?!” Seriously, a _week_? That’s torturous.  
  
“We’ve got to be up early to clean up all your shit from the apartment!” He yells back and you fight the urge to kick something. Yeah, hiding all the swords and guns, disabling all the traps, taking down all the totally inappropriate blue lady posters and generally cleaning this place up is going to take an age. But you really do not care at all. Like on a scale of caring from one to ten you’re so high up in the gazillions that the scale isn’t even visible. The scale is a dot to you. The scale is a speck of dust on your shoe, the scale is nothing more tha - this train of thought is stupid. The point is that if you're going to embark on this stupid week of children and chastity you're going to need something to go on. That though on it's own is enough to cause you to slump even further down into your chair.   
  
“I don’t even care!” God fucking damn it you are _making._ _this. happen._


	2. Chapter 2

Thankfully it seems like you’re not the only one who has become as aware of how long this week is going to be, so you do get quite _thoroughly_ laid.  
  
But waking up at what the squawking alarm tell you to be eight the next morning you can’t help but mourn the loss of the amount of sleep you ended up sacrificing. But the still present ache in your thighs that has you wincing when you try to sit up reminds you of how yeah, no that was totally worth it, and attempting to detach yourself from your limpet of a still blissfully sleeping boyfriend you decide just getting this week over and done with would be less painful that whinging every step of the way.   
But getting it even started is hard when Jake is still snoring despite the _almost_ as loud alarm that refuses to shut the fuck up blares rudely into what otherwise could have been a nice, lazy morning.   
Oh god except they’ll be here in four hours.   
  
Groaning at the thought you start trying to coax Jake awake, prodding his shoulder, his cheek and his forehead repeatedly for a good five minutes and earning nothing but a deep sigh and a tighter hold around your waist. Urgh, why do you have to be so in the mood for this right now? Oh, because it’s _Sunday_ and this is how you always want to spend _Sundays_. But instead of spending most of the day half asleep, cosy and warm you’ve got to somehow wiggle free from Jake’s vice like hold and escape into the undoubtedly chilly bathroom to begin to get ready. And Oh god it’s going to be so cold in there; you can see the condescension on your bedroom windows from here. It must be freezing outside! Who even decides to travel to Paris in mid November anyway?!   
  
Oh fuck this you’re going back to sleep.   
  
Sliding back down from your half seated position and thinking that yes this was a good idea when your chest gets re-enveloped by the warmth of the duvet you decide that hey, maybe if you oversleep the girls will think it’s a bad idea to leave the kids with you and reschedule.   
Shut up, you’re an ass when you’ve just woken up.   
  
Jake mumbles something in his sleep and pulls you toward him a little more like you’re some sort of human teddy bear which, you know seeing as he himself is like a human hot water bottle, you’re totally not adverse to. Wrapping your arms around his bare shoulders and finding that perhaps you weren’t quite as awake as you had thought, within minutes you’re snoozing quite happily, subconsciously thanking fuck that the alarm stopped screaming. But of course it’s only about fifteen minutes later that Jake wakes up full of beans as usual and as obnoxiously enthusiastic about the day as you’d dreaded he’d be. He yawns and stretches his arms free, the movement enough to disturb you –we can’t all sleep through just about anything-, and you take a break from lazily glaring at him for disturbing you to scope out his chest appreciatively as he sits up and fumbles to grab his glasses from the bedside table.   
  
“G’Morning!” He chirps, so cheerful that your scowl deepens just a little bit. How can anyone be that happy when they’ve just woken up? It’s unnatural.  
Jake catches the look on your face and laughs, leaning over and planting a kiss on your forehead which is sappy enough to make your bitter face fall just a little. The bastard knows your weaknesses.   
  
“Come on you big lug, we’ve got loads to do this morning and there’s not a single chance I’m doing it on my own!” You nod, grumbling something about how you had TRIED to get this day started only about half an hour ago but he wouldn’t move his butt, but Jake doesn’t stick around to hear it as he slides out of the covers and heads for the bathroom, leaving you in a suddenly much less comfortable and far too empty feeling bed. Resisting the urge to just curl under the duvet and roll around in your misery, you pull yourself from the warm confines and actually wince when your bare feet touch the cold of the carpet. Winter sucks.   
  
He hasn’t bothered to lock the door to the bathroom, but the steam from the shower and his silhouette behind the curtain makes it obvious that he’s in there, kindly fogging up the mirror you’re trying to use to brush your teeth and fix your hair. You think about stealing and hiding all the towels just to make his morning more difficult, but then you think he most likely wouldn’t really care and you’d be left looking stupid. Wiping away the steam from the mirror and drying your hands on the side of your boxers, you lean against the sink as you try to fashion your hair into something tolerable. But you’d gone to bed with way too much product in it and it’s turned into a complete mess, sticking to your neck at the back and flopping heavily around the middle. You look like a huge tool and it’s completely unworkable.   
  
“Hurry up.” You bark to the boy in the shower. Pretty hypocritically, sure; Jake could shower about five times in the time it takes you to scrub yourself to satisfaction but that’s neither here nor there right now. His hair looked as fluffy and adorably messy as it always does, being the sort of person who can put no effort into their appearance and still come across as looking good, whereas you’re pretty sure if you let your hair do whatever it pleased and wore stupid shorts you’d be pulled off of the streets and chucked into an asylum.   
  
“Alright, alright.” He chuckles infuriatingly and steps out from the shower, grabbing a towel and fixing it around his waist. He’s left the water running for you, which is nice, but you know he’s not running it as hot as you’d want because no sane human would be. He’s ran you showers before when he’s had the day off and you’ve been running late for work, but despite how many times you remind him that you like to feel like a lobster in a boiling pot he refuses to crank the temperature up high enough. Sure enough, when you step in it’s far too cold and you half wrench the tap to the side and shiver miserably ‘til the water catches up. You consider jerking off in the shower, but after remembering that that’s pretty much all you’re going to be getting for a week you decide you’re not in the mood at all, and work on scrubbing all the left over product out of your hair. By the time you’re done with that, have cleaned every inch of yourself about three times, wrapped yourself in a towel and shoved another one on your head, Jake is already dry and dressed, and looking rather pleased with himself for some reason. Oh, he’s made the bed. Congrats jungle boy, welcome to civilization.   
  
“I’m going to round up all that blasted weaponry we’ve got lying around and pile it all into the spare room, alright?” He beams at you, the way he has his hands on his hips making you question if he’s seeing this as some sort of weird social experiment thing.   
  
“Once we’ve got everything spick and span we can get this-“   
  
“For the love of god don’t call it an adven-“   
  
“-adventure on the road!”   
  
Thankfully he’s sauntered off before you can throw a pillow at his dorky face, leaving you in peace to most likely spend way more time than necessary on doing your hair and getting dressed just to piss him off. You shrug on some loose black, denim slacks and a dark orange vest, cursing your wardrobe for being suited for Texas weather and therefore having nothing warm. Pulling on some socks but not bothering with scuffing your feet into your supras, you make your way to the mirror above the cabinet that is supposed to house all of your clothes but instead has become a home for more swords, puppets and rounds of pistol ammo, grabbing a pot of wax from your collection and setting to work.  
Something about spending the time on your hair does chill you out in the mornings. It’s almost second nature after all these years so your mind can wonder enough to leave you unfocused but you’ve got to pay attention just enough to stop your train of thought from completely derailing. Plus this wax smells like pineapples and that’s pretty damn sweet. When you’ve fixed your hair into a towering beacon of blonde perfection (oh yeah) you meander into the bathroom to wash the remaining gunk from your hands and grab your gloves and shades on the way out.   
So what if you’re making a little extra effort today? You figure it’s been a while since you’ve seen the girls so they deserve to see you at your best. Hell, everyone deserves that.   
  
The cheerios had been cleaned up the night before, and as you enter the kitchen slash diner thing you guys tend to spend most of your time in, you find Jake –or rather, a towering pile of swords and smuppets with his legs poking out from the bottom- making his way through precariously. He pokes his head around to grin at you and nods pointedly at a pile of guns in the corner.   
  
“Those are all unloaded so I reckon they don’t need to go away, so don’t worry about them!”  
  
“I’m not sure if Jane and Roxy want their brats playing with guns loaded or not, Jake.” You muse, trying to keep a smile from your features. He just shrugs, or you think he does you can’t really tell because of how much he’s carrying, and wanders off to dump everything into the spare room. The place isn’t that messy in your opinion, it just needs making slightly less deadly.   
  
Oh, and someone should do something about those posters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this isnt too boring omg

**Author's Note:**

> Poor sexually frustrated dirk.


End file.
